Letters of Lydia Maria Child, with a biographical introduction by John G. Whittier and an appendix by Wendell Phillips.

60 LETTERS.
they were for Mrs. Child's birthday and he overheard
her. " I cannot take pay for flowers intended for
her," said he. " She is a stranger to me, but she has
given my wife and children so many flowers in her
writings, that I will never take money of her." It
brought the tears to lly eyes. I wish I was good.
I ought to be, everybody is so kind to me.
The fourth pleasant incident was the entrance of
J. L., the cantatrice, and a very sweet warbler she is.
"I did not forget your birthday," she said, and she
placed on my head a crimson wreath and sang and
played for me Ole's favorite melody: " Near the lake
where droops the willow," which he has introduced
beautifully in his "' Niagara," swelling upon the wind
instruments as if borne on the wings of angels.
Meeting with so much unexpected kindness filled
me with universal benevolence. I ran right off and
gave a large portion of my violets to my friend, MIrs.
F. G. S., who is here under Dr. Elliott's care and
blind for the present, and the fragrance refreshed her
though she could not see the beautiful tint. Then I
ran in another direction and carried my little musicbox, and another portion of my violets, to a poor man
who is dying slowly. I wanted to give something
and do something for the whole world..... But I
must take care, for my own private theories on this
subject touch the verge of radicalism.
I have a confession to make to you. I intended to
send you some little " rattletrap " on your birthday.
But I said to myself, " that will seem. like reminding
her of my birthday.1 She is rich and I am poor. If
I send her plaster she will perhaps send me marble;
it will be more delicate not to do it." I am ashamed,
1 Their birthdays came in the same month.